The Hunger
by RevlerRose
Summary: How did it start? And, how will it end? Let's catch up with our favorite Sheriff, redneck, and sword wielding wonder woman as they fight their way to Washington DC. WARNING: This will end up as a CARYL story; if this isn't you're ship please sail on. Rated M for language, smut, and violence.
1. The Beginning of The End

Spring 2010

The world ended on a Thursday.

Not that anyone noticed.

It didn't end with a bang or a crash. There was no shock wave from a massive explosion, fallout, or radiation. There was no benevolent deity that snapped his fingers to remove the blue marble from existence.

None of these things.

The world ended on a Thursday with the soft tinkling of broken glass against the disinfected metal floor of the Defense Solutions Laboratory in Arlington, VA. It was a small test tube, not a full sized beaker. A slender receptacle for blood storage that fell less than three feet and, just like that, the dominoes began to topple.

"Shit," Quinton Fairmount cursed under his breath. The clunky rubberized Tyvek suit felt like it was three sizes too big on his 5'4" inch frame and every time he turned around the air intake hose attached to the rear of his suit seemed to be catching within a six foot circumference.

They used to have self contained air systems but, Quinton's Supervisor, Ben, had thrown out his back one too many times and now the department had been saddled with these bulkier older model suits that hooked into a separate air system in the clean rooms. And, it was this ventilation issue, Quinten would later reason, that caused the whole mess in the first place.

The culture was a small but, virulent strain of Pandora9 a DNA modification virus that, but was harmless, but, when combined with primate blood resulted in unpredictable host mutations.

This particular .1cc sample had been combined with .1cc of of a test subject's blood. A small framed blond girl that was trying to earn extra money to cover tuition at Marymount University. She had been more than happy to donate the healthy blood that would end the world in exchange for $50 and a free bag a Keebler Cookies.

Quinton hadn't taken the blood but, he'd mixed it with the anti coagulant to make it suitable for the mass spec. He hadn't taken the blood but, he'd mixed the sample that would end the world. But, in all fairness it was his job. It was Quinton's job to explore weaponized applications and, as the vial hit the floor, all he could think was how much this shit cost an ounce.

Ben Feinstein was none too happy when he saw Quinton waddle into decon in his Tyvek suit. He was less happy when his chief weapons engineer hit the large red button to the left of the decon door that flamed the floor of the lab.

"What got knocked over?" Ben raised his voice to be heard of the roaring of the individual gas flames under the floor of the lab.

Quinton shucked the Tyvek suit as simultaneous sprayers coated his body and clothing in a mist of industrial grade disinfectant. Once the appropriate appropriate amount of the sterilizing liquid had been dispensed the sprayers shut off automatically and Quinton grabbed a sealed scrubber pad and ripped off its plastic pouch before attacking his exposed skin with the practiced efficiency of 461 working days with only one day of sick time taken. He spent 120 seconds per arm, counting out loud, and 240 seconds per leg before flipping the switch to be air dried by the blowers recessed in the wall.

Ben tapped the glass to the decon room the whole time; irritated with watching the sample of Pandora9 dissipate in small gas flames of the lab floor to his left. Quinton was deliberately not looking at him eyes averted to his task at hand.

When the decon door finally slid open with a pleasantly soft 'whooshing' noise Ben was on Quinton in a matter of milliseconds. "Did you get any on you? Were there any tares? What happened?"

Quinton chewed his bottom lip absently as he moved from Ben's piercing gaze to grab his canvas work pants off the hook outside decon and slip them on over the basketball shorts he wore in the suit. "No," he said simply.

Ben rifled his hands over his face and through his slightly too long raven hair. "Do you know how much that stuff costs?"

And, there it was. Quinton knew it had been coming; the almighty dollar. Ben didn't really give a shit about the science, the applications, the molecular mutation copy rate. He gave a damn about the bottom line. But, then again, that was his job. Quinton raise his gaze to meet Ben's piercing emerald eyes. "Eighteen thousand sixty four dollars per cubic centimeter for manufacturing costs. And, I dropped point one cubic centimeters diluted in suspension so; one thousand six dollars and forty cents. Take it out of my paycheck."

Ben was startled. Usually Quinton was far more submissive than this. Ben was, momentarily, without his words. When he found his voice again, it was dangerously low, "Go home."

Quinton sighed, sneezed, and sighed again. "You know what Ben," Quinton gave him a half smile, "I was already headed that way. Not feeling so good anyway."

Later that day Ethel Barabis would come with the cleaning crew to start the sanitation of Quinton's lab. She would shove Quinton's Tyvek suit into a biohazard bag for incineration. She was in a hurry and would never notice the four millimeter separation between the air intake valve on the back of the suit and rubberized housing. The tiniest of cracks that allowed for the passage of room air into the suit when it was in use.

When Quinton finally made it home that evening he was exhausted. He had stopped by his Mother's to take her for their Thursday evening ice cream and dropped her at the Bingo parlor early so she could take down the "old biddies." He had no idea that he had taken his work home with him and shared it with his mother. Or that she would take it with her to Bingo.

Barbara, Quinton's Mother, dominated at Bingo that Thursday evening and was congratulated on her twelve hundred dollars in winnings by half of her church group. Donna Peltzer gave Barbara a tight hug before she had to leave.

Donna had to leave early to make the redeye to Chicago where she would make a midnight connection to LAX before she boarded a flight for Paris. It was her sixty-fifth birthday treat to herself.

When Donna arrived at LAX that night at 11:09pm she was starting to feel poorly. To pass the time she busied herself by making conversation with any passer-by's that would talk to her.

Quinton died in his sleep that Thursday night at 11:48pm. Alone. He would never live to see the fruition of his work.

Donna Peltzer passed away on her flight. The corner in Paris, Jehan Marquis, deemed it a case of the flu and pulled her body, on a gurney, off the plane and through the back corridors of the airport past two airline lounges.

In retrospect Jehan probably should have been more careful. But, really, it had all been over at LAX.

The world had ended before midnight on a Thursday.

But, no one really noticed. Not for weeks.


	2. The Hot Box

The heat was unbearable. Like being wrapped in a hot wet quilt that bundled your torso, choked your neck, invaded your sinuses, and smothered your mouth. While the weather outside of the train car held at a crisp sixty four degrees in the early days of a Georgia autumn the inside of train car, sitting directly in the sun, was the kind of sweltering heat that no individual person would ever conceptually expose themselves to but, here they were; inside a metal oven. It was, undoubtedly, the hottest Daryl Dixon had ever been in his life. And, it was starting to piss him off.

Daryl shifted silently, yet anxiously, back and forth on the balls of his feet as he chewed his thumbnail. Rick hadn't said anything for the last twenty minutes. He was watching the collected shadows through the chained juncture of the train car doors. Carl and Michonne were busy ripping up her belt into fine thin strips and braiding in broken bits of metal they had pulled from the car's soldered edges. The one he had learned was called Abraham was pacing alternately clenching and unclenching his fists.

Maggie broke the silence, "Do we have a plan?"

"We take 'um hard when they come through the door," Abraham groused. "We watch, stay alert, and take 'em down when they come through." Abraham stopped to run his hand through his burnt amber curls. "They'll have to bunch up to come through and we can take 'em down then, take their guns, and force our way out."

Daryl turned to Rick, "That the plan?"

Rick rubbed his scruff and sighed. "Best we've got." Rick turned away from the slit in the door for the first time. "Carl," he husked.

Carl looked up from his silent work with Michonne. She put a light palm on the back of his shoulder and gave a slight push toward Rick. Carl crossed the sweltering box to his Father's outstretched arms. Rather than embrace his son in the unbearable heat Rick elected to let his open palm rest on Carl's shoulder as he spoke.

Rick spoke plainly to his Son, "When it starts; stay between Daryl and Michonne." Carl gave a barely perceptible nod. "When we get out of the car grab the first gun or knife you see and head to the fences. They'll be twisted up with us and, if you're fast enough, you can make it." Rick paused and seemed to deeply consider his last sentence. "You are fast enough. You will make it to the fences. Get away from this place."

Carl's brow dipped and creased in the middle as he silently shook his head.

"Yes," Rick reinforced. He shifted his gaze to Michonne for support. Michonne silently rose from her crouched position on the floor and came to stand behind Carl and let her hand brush down the back of his neck so he would register her position. Carl looked up to Michonne's silent demeanor and then back to his Father before registering that he'd lost this discussion without ever saying a word.

"Daryl," Rick turned to address the hunter who raised an eyebrow at his name. "I don't know how fast they'll come in but, he's got to make it out."

Daryl grunted an affirmative noise.

"Hey now," Abraham suddenly interjected. " I get it that boy's got ta' get out but, the rest of us would like to see the light of day too. Plus, our man Eugene has gotta get to Washington."

It was Rick's turn to wrinkle his forehead.

Sasha spoke up to attempt to bridge the gap of misunderstanding. "That one," she said with a head tilt to Eugene, "says he can cure this. In fact," Sasha cleared her throat, "the way Abraham tells it; if we can get Eugene to Washington we can bring the end of the world to a close."

Rick turned to Abraham, "What's in Washington?"

Abraham released a gruff snort of derision, "What's left of the US government I reckon." Abraham paused and gestured toward a silent Eugene. "He is a damned medical genius and he says he's got a cure. And," Abraham emphasized a little louder than necessary, "I happen to believe him."

Rick shook his head slightly. He was hard pressed to believe anything these strangers said. His only current priority was to get his people out alive. He turned his head to Maggie, Sasha, Glenn, and Bob. "Have any of you seen any proof that any of what he's saying is true?"

Before they could react Abraham rushed Rick, "You callin' me a liar,?" he roared. The next few seconds were a blur. Rick sidestepped the overgrown man as Daryl tackled Abraham from the side before he could even reach Rick.

In the struggle that ensued the noise was deafening as it echoed percussively off their metal prison. Rick found it unbelievable disorienting.

"Enough," Michonne's voice cut through the din and Daryl froze as a slightly bloodied Abraham scrambled away from his grasp. Her voice dropped frighteningly low as the gravity of their situation laced it's way into her words. "I don't know what you all saw on the way in here but, we," she paused to glance toward Daryl and Rick, "saw bodies. Fleshless bodies." Michonne took another pause and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. It was a gesture Rick had come to recognize as her sole nervous tick. He didn't see it very often. "The amount of people they have here, the set-up, the," her tongue darted out to her lip a second time, "smell." Michonne glanced toward Carl and a shadow crossed her flawless features as she wrestled with going farther. "The smell would seem to indicate that they are eating people."

Rick heard a choked sob from the back of the train car and looked to see that Abraham's female companion seemed to be holding a girl he recognized from the attack on the prison. The younger girl was crying. The remainder of the group seemed to be weighing Michonne's words. In the stifling quiet Rick could hear his heart beat and, for a second, he thought he could hear the beating of his Son's only a few feet away.

"We're all getting out." It was Daryl who broke the silence. "Ain't nobody in here gettin' ate."

THE END THE END THE END THE END THE END THE END THE END THE END

Carol smiled lightly into the face of the small toddler on her lap. She and Tyreese had picked up Maggie's notes to Glenn two days ago and now Terminus was just over the horizon.

After a brief exchanging of responsibilities it was decided that Tyreese would scout the grounds before either of them made an attempt to approach the front gate.

That had been two hours ago, at least, if Carol was tracking the sun correctly. In any fashion it had been time enough for Carol to change Judith twice, feed her, and try to get her started on a little nap. Carol dipped her head and used her short pixish hair to tickle little Judith Grimes' face. In response the crimson headed girl wrinkled her nose and cooed quietly.

This was the most adorable face possible to Carol. That tiny wrinkled nose and that coo made her believe that their was a point to getting up in the morning, every morning. Carol sighed and pulled Judith to her chest allowing the babe to rest lightly on her left shoulder. Judith let loose a soft sigh and, shortly after, Carol heard her breathing even out and knew that the girl had finally fallen asleep.

Carol closed her eyes tightly, willing herself not to cry, but, it was hard. Shooting Lizzie was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. Ever. And, yet this seemed like it was becoming a little harder. How much Judith trusted her with that childish innocence. Carol had already failed so many she shuddered to think how she could face this world to continue if she failed Judith.

Carol heard grunting over the ridge to her right and she, moving as quietly as possible, pulled her knife from it's holster on her belt while schooching behind the nearest tree. Carol looked down at the babe cradled against her chest to the right and the eight inch blade in her left hand. The dichotomy was not lost on her.

"Carol?" Tyreese's hushed whisper came to her attention behind the tree. "Carol?" Tyreese called a little louder.

"I'm fine," Carol answered softly as she used the tree against her back to leverage into a standing position without waking Judith. "Just over here." When Carol revealed herself from behind the tree to be holding Judith in one hand and the knife in the other she didn't miss Ty's fearful flick of the eyes between the knife and Judith. As if to reassure himself he closed the distance between them and laid his large hand on Judy's soft wisps of scarlet hair. When he felt her warm frame squirm slightly against his touch he smiled.

"Always thought that was a little too big for you," he said softly as he nodded toward the knife Carol was replacing in her belt.

Carol pursed her lips at the comment. It hurt that Ty was still afraid of her behavior. It hurt that she'd explained herself so many times he didn't want to hear it anymore. But, somewhere deep in her soul she felt she deserved his distrust, despite her reasoning. Carol closed her eyes to calm herself so she wouldn't make a gut retort that could bring on another three days of punishing silence between her and Ty. Three days of silence like the last stint that he had just broken this morning. Calmly Carol resheathed the blade. "Daryl gave it to me," she said softly. "I'll be carrying it till he asks for it back."

Tyreese flinched slightly at the mention of Daryl's name. He had, only two hours prior watched as his former family, his sister and Daryl included, had been forced, in two separate groups only an hour or so apart, into a metal train car at the far end of Terminus. This place was not what the radio announcement he'd overheard with Daryl led them to believe. This place was not the posters promised or the road signs claimed. This place was not safe. And, now his sister was inside along with the fragmented remainder of their community.

However, it was not safe to discuss this with Carol where they were so he simply nodded at Carol's statement and, stepped back, picking up Carol's pack as he went. "Come on," he muttered, "we need ta' get back."

Carol fell in easy step behind him. "But," she started "was anyone there? What did you see?"

Tyreese offered a hesitant glance to the surrounding trees. Military precision and tactical power like that demonstrated twice by the Terminus residents would have to have scouting parties. Scouting parties could be well hidden. Tyreese took a deep breath and gave an overly exaggerated sigh. "Babe," Tyreese turned and gave his best smile, "we've got to get back to the kids and the others. Besides," Tyreese leaned in and looped his arm around Carols neck, "I wanna get you home." Tyreese bent in, closing the short space between their faces and laid his lips against Carol's. He felt every muscle in her back bunch and, for a second, he was afraid she was going to bite him. As he pulled away he stopped mere millimeters from her mouth. "We're being watched," he breathlessly uttered.

Much to his surprise Carol's body relaxed and she stepped forward pushing herself flush to his chest with Judith squirming slightly to her right. "Are they in there?" She breathed the question into the shell of his ear.

Tyreese's breathing quickened just slightly despite his best efforts at the facade. He turned his neck and gave her another quick peck, this time on the cheek as he whispered; "They'll need help. We'll come back."


	3. The Cold Night

**It occurred to me, after I posted the first chapters, that I hadn't posted the "official disclaimer!" So, here goes: I OWN NOTHING EXPECT my own meandering imagination. All references to Kirkland's world and TWD cast are strictly a fanfiction homage and I make no money off them what so ever! ~ Too Bad for Me~!**

************TRIGGER WARNING**************** This chapter has references to human cannibalism and domestic violence. Not in the same paragraph and nothing to graphic. That all being said: Consider yourself warned!*********************

Mary Ogden was praying. She did that a great deal anymore. Her mother had raised her Catholic however, despite her upbringing, when the world had gone to shit she hadn't turned to God. She'd turned to man.

Her neighbor to be exact.

In the turmoil that followed the outbreak in her native Virginia Mary had turned to her neighbor, Bill, for support and shelter. She and her only daughter Jessica had knocked on his door the day after the power went out for good. Mary didn't have anyone else to turn to. Her husband had died in a car wreck the day before Jessica was born sixteen years before and her Sister lived in Albuquerque New Mexico.

Mary paused mid thought and silently added her Sister's soul to her prayer list.

Bill had started off friendly enough. He regularly helped Mary up the winding staircase that led to her second story walk up. Whenever she had too many bags of groceries or any large packages to lug up the corridor he always lent a hand. Mary had no reservations about turning to Bill when the world went to shit.

It took only three weeks before he sold Jessica for clean water a two fresh rabbits.

Twenty-One days before he caved under the constant pressure of thirst and the gnawing pangs of hunger.

Bill had knocked her out. Mary had known something was wrong when she awoke on that balmy afternoon to a splitting pain that bisected her left temple. Carefully, slowly, she had put back together the events that preceded her injury. There had been a knock at the apartment door and then men talking. Bill had come into the back bedroom where they had been and asked Jessica to come with him. Jess had refused. Mary had objected. Then; blackness.

Mary shuffled the rosary in her left hand as she readjusted to let her fingers drift across the scar she still bore from that day. It meandered along the side of her face and laid lightly along her left temple as if a strand of her hair had burned her skin there.

Silently Mary prayed for Bill.

She'd killed him. To this day Mary couldn't tell you how she'd done it.

After gaining her footing and vomiting twice from head trauma she had waded through her swimming vision to the living area where she'd found him crying over three gallon jugs of water and some charred strips of rabbit.

That's where her memory stopped. The next tangible recollection Mary could hold on to was eating him. Her hands soaked in thick viscous blood as she tore into his neck with her incisors. That was the day Mary Ogden lost her mind.

The following weeks were only smoky wisps of memory. Mary never fully found her way back to sanity but, she did find her way back to a purpose. That purpose came in the form of a starving twenty-two year old boy beaten and left for dead on back walk up of that apartment building.

"Mary?"

Mary sighed deeply and wound her rosary over her left wrist. She had heard the door creak when Gareth had entered the memorial room. She recognized his characteristic gate and thin shadow that danced among the dim candlelight of her surroundings.

"Mary," Gareth tried again.

Mary, with a great deal of effort, rose from her knees. Gareth knew better than to help the Matriarch. He waited patiently while she turned to face him. A placid look lay across her features. "Gareth," Mary used the name as a response tilting the th up in a slight question of purpose.

"I've got them in one of the cars in back," Gareth stated evenly. "I put them in with the other set from this afternoon."

"That many in one car?" Mary masked her first evidence of irritation as best she could. "That is more than our limit."

Gareth knew to what Mary was referring. They had a set limit. Put forward by the council for no more than ten per car. To many more and they became difficult to control as a group. Gareth raked his hands through his hair.

"You didn't have to have Alex shot," Mary continued. "But, this will make a teachable moment."

Gareth shuddered. He hated this. Somehow he could make sense of the food. The necessity of retaliating against starvation. He could even make sense in his mind of ridding themselves of the weak links. Alex had been weak weather Mary wanted to admit it or not. But, he knew what was coming next and, that, he still had a problem with.

"Have Albert do the carving for our new guests. Make sure the meat that was Alex is cooked down as soon as possible," Mary spoke as calmly as if she was giving instructions for making Thanksgiving dinner.

Gareth nodded. "I can have one of the guys pull them out to separate them."

Mary shook her head. "You do it Son," she said with a light placid smile. "You welcomed them in; now you can welcome them to their new life."

Gareth nodded. "Give them the option."

Mary's smile didn't change. It was the same cold pleasant smile she wore twenty-four seven. It was the same smile she had greeted a starving Gareth with four years ago outside her apartment building. The smile she'd worn when she'd fed that famished boy small palatable chunks of barbecued Bill. She'd worn it when she explained to Gareth that the dead didn't come close to her because of Bill. She'd even hidden behind it when, together, they'd hunted and eaten two of the men that had purchased her daughter.

Gareth knew that smile. It betrayed the fragmented reality that their Matriarch kept in tenuous balance. It may have been fragmented but, it worked. No one else had died from attacks in months. The more they ate the more the dead stayed away. Maybe it was because they were stronger, or smelled differently, or were just more vigilant. In reality, the reason didn't really matter, it was just the sickening truth that they all had to accept. The dark reality that bound them all to each other. He didn't understand the science but, he knew it worked.

Mary sighed, "Always give them the option. Just make sure they understand that; if they're not part of our family they will serve a purpose here. Their sacrifice will be the sacrament that continues to protect us."

Gareth nodded and turned on his heel to leave.

"Gareth," Mary called lightly after him.

Gareth paused but, didn't turn back around.

"You are looking a little thin," Mary continued. "When I'm done in here I want to hear that you ate plenty for dinner."

In response Gareth nodded towards the doorway.

"Gareth?" Mary's voice was firmer now. It's tone insisted a response.

"Yes, Ma'am. I will." Gareth spoke quietly as he quickly left the room.

Mary hummed softly in his absence. She crossed the small spiral of names scrawled on the floor and retrieved a candle from it's place on a table in the corner. Stooping she utilized one of the other candles to light the one in her hand and then placed this meager offering on her daughter's name.

The chalk scrawling that read 'Jessica Ogden' appeared eerie in the flickering light.

For a split second, just a hair's breadth, Mary heard her daughter scream again.

She closed her eyes and focused on the present, the safety, the community she had built. When she opened them she realized she was facing the chalk words 'Never Again,' blocked out on the east wall of the room.

As her breath came out against the cold in little puffs Mary nodded to no one in particular.

Never Again

HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER HUNGER

The air had been chilly all day but, as the sun slipped low on the west horizon, Carol gave a shudder when the the first true fingers of cold slipped across the nape of her neck. Judith squirmed in the pack on Carol's back and she knew that the little girl must be getting hungry. She'd been silently following Tyreese for over an hour in a zigzag pattern through the woods however, she knew too much longer and they'd have a squalling infant on their hands.

"Tyreese," Carol called quietly. "I need to feed Judith."

Tyreese turned and grunted an affirmative sound before stopping near a rocky outcropping. "Here we'll have a windbreak," he muttered.

Carol nodded and shucked her pack before propping it, baby and all, up against the rocks. This way little Judith could see her companions. Carol stuck her tongue out at Judy and tickled the babe on the nose before turning her attention back to Tyreese who had begun to gather firewood.

"Ty," Carol quired, "Is it okay if I ask what you saw?"

Tyreese gave a glance to the trees before replying, "I think we lost our tail about a mile back. Little monkey was up in the trees; but, I haven't seen him since we crossed that stream."

Carol took a minute of silence between them to give this statement consideration before pressing, "So, what did you see?" Carol busied herself by rooting in her side pack for the rice cereal mix she'd stowed earlier.

Tyreese deposited the gathered kindling into a pile just in front of Carol and sighed as he bent down to arrange it. "It wasn't good. I'm not entirely sure what was going on in there. They shot at them,"

Carol dropped the box of cereal she was holding and covered her mouth with a gasp. Her eyes were wide and incredulous. As suddenly as the gasp had come her face contorted in anger. Her mood had shifted almost instantaneously and when she spoke her voice was dripping with venom, "And, we left them there?"

Tyreese snapped the fistfull of twigs in his hands. His upper lip curled with naked malice. "Don't you think I thought of that? Don't you think I," abruptly Tyreese stood, his anger getting the better of him. "My fucking Sister's in there," he spat.

Carol pulled out Judy's small bowl; her hands shaking with fury. "Who else?" She whispered the question as she didn't trust her voice.

Tyresse raked his hand over his skull pulling off his cap in the process. The anger was still there but, it appeared that the process of stating his recollection aloud had taken some of the wind from his sails. "I saw Sasha with Maggie, Glen, and a some others I didn't know." His voice shook slightly, "I saw 'chionne come in later wit' Rick, Carl, an'," Tyreese squeezed his eyes shut, "Daryl."

If he hadn't been listening for it; he would have missed it. Carol's intake of breath was barely audible, she had halted pouring the powdered cereal into Judy's bowl and kept her head bowed low over her work as she spoke. "We should have helped," she whispered, anguish encroaching on her voice. Somehow the knowledge that this group of people had successfully contained Michonne and Daryl made that inkling of despair that much worse. "You said we were being followed. If they wanted us they would have taken us. Maybe we could have bargained for them. Maybe we could have talked to these people. Maybe they just wanted something from Rick or one of the others. Maybe,"

As if on cue Judith's thin wail of protest at her delayed dinner derailed Carol's train of thought. Carol stopped mixing the cereal and turned to pluck the toddler out of her makeshift knapsack carrier. When she had turned back, to feed Judith on her knee, Carol discovered that Tyreese had dropped wordlessly to the ground in front of her. His eyes were deep pools of pain and the expression he wore was one of utter defeat.

"Do you know why I hate you?" Tyreese whispered the question, there was no malice there, no actually hate.

Carol was lost.

Utterly confused.

But, since their discussion in the cottage, he'd been like this; a little more on edge, a little more, 'lost' himself.

She shook her head willing the word 'hate' to be a lie. 'He forgave her,' she reasoned internally. He forgave her. She almost said the sentence out loud but, the words died on her lips. He would never forget. He had every right to that hate her. "Because," she paused, "I killed Karen." The sentence hung in the taciturn space between them.

Irritably Judith leaned forward in Carol's arms and sunk one grubby fist into the cereal before bringing the hand back to her open mouth and gumming the mixture from her digits.

Tyreese's face was placid as he reached forward and ran a calloused index finger along Carol's jawline. He wrinkled his nose and upper lip slightly as he touched her. "No," he breathed.

Carol didn't move. She feared that any further communication on her part might break this, this, whatever the Hell 'this' thing was that was happening. She felt Judith squirm but, held tight to the toddler as she fished another palmful of rice cereal to her lips.

Tyreese dropped his hand and stood. A regretful shadow of a smile whispered across his full lips as he turned away from her. "I hate you because I didn't," he breathed. "I didn't kill her. It should have been me with her at the end; not you."

Carol regarded Tyreese's back with a look of irritation before noticing that Judith was know wearing most of her dinner. She began to attack Judy's face and forearms with a rag from her back pocket as she spoke. "Tyreese," Carol's voice was clear. "I really don't give a damn if you don't talk to me for the next three days or the next thirty days. What happened with Karen," Carol paused as she rotated Judy in her lap and began to wipe globs of sticky cereal from her neck, "that's on me." She finished her work and looked up to see Tyreese eyeing her. "It will always be one me. It's a decision I made alone. I shouldn't have done that, I see that now. The girls," Carol's breath shuddered, "that decision we made together. To care for them and when they…." Carol gritted her teeth against the tremor that was prying into her voice, "Lizzie," she corrected. There was another beat of silence where Carol wasn't sure if she could continue.

"Fuck," she uttered exasperated with her erratic thought pattern. When she spoke again Carol's voice was even and low. "The decision about Lizzie, that's on me too. But," Carol threw her right palm up in the air to signify her frustration, "I can't go back and, even if I could, I can't say I'd do any of it differently." Carol turned away from Tyreese and then turned back. Her right hand hovering over her right shoulder like she meant to knead her own muscles or swat a fly. Her mind lost to the realization of her own words. 'any of it' Had she really said that? 'any of it'

Tyreese looked visibly struck by her words.

Suddenly anger clouded her fine features and Carol's focus was back. "But, Goddamnit Tyreese," Carol was on a roll now, her hand taking on new life. As her exasperation set in the hand flailed of it's own volition pointing and gesturing wildly when Carol's voice rose "don't get your sister killed because you hate me. Don't haul ME away from what needs to be done because YOU hate yourself for not doing things in the past." Carol rose to her feet as she spoke over enunciating the words 'me' and 'you' in some blind need to get Tyreese to understand her.

Too quickly for her to anticipate it Tyreese's hand shot out and grabbed Carol's flailing appendage. His eyes were dark and Carol's crescendo was abruptly cut short. "I can't do this with you again," he whispered. "I can't." The weight of the pressure on her hand was crushing her fingers and Carol gritted her teeth in response as she applied a steady pull to try to free the hand from his relentless grasp. Tyreese held fast. His fingers flexed like the muscles in a python. "I brought you all the way back here to lose the tail," Tyreese ground out. "So I could tell you that what I saw. What I saw was a community that distrusts the powerful. Fears it. A community that would be suspicious of someone," Tyreese took a ragged breath, "like me. Someone they may not be able to control." Tyreese abruptly dropped Carol's hand as if it had burned him. The sudden realization that he may have been hurting her caused him to shake his head and turn his gaze downward.

Carol popped her thumb and sat Judy down at her feet so she could rub her liberated palm. "But," Carol spoke evenly down toward her hand. Eyes averted from Tyreese she watched little Judith Grimes lean to the side to pick up a small rock and hold it up, for Carol's examination, with a smile. Carol took the rock, held it, and rolled it in her palm before looking back to meet Tyreese's gaze, "if I go; they wouldn't suspect."

"If you go," Tyreese mirrored, looking up, "alone, they wouldn't suspect a thing."

Carol was nodding silently; her mind going over the details. Suddenly the nodding turned turned to a slight head shaking. "No," Carol countered. "You said we had a 'tail.' You said they'd seen me with you; with Judy. There's no way they'd believe I'd run from you. No way they'd believe I'd give up having someone else with me for protection."

When she looked up Tyreese was doing it again. That vacant stare. His eyes so full of pain. He reached out and easily palmed the side of Carol's face. Despite herself Carol leaned into Tyreese hand, savoring the human contact. However brief. She marveled at how easily the entire side of her face fit into his palm. When her eyes met his she finally understood.

It was a silent conversation.

Probably the only one they'd ever had.

Carol nodded and Tyreese dropped his hand as she stooped to pick up Judith Grimes. Her hands were trembling slightly when she bound the little girl back into her makeshift pack. Judith's sleepy face lolled to the side and her eyes were shut. Tyreese was behind her then and handed Carol his red bandanna which Carol took and lightly draped over Judy's tiny angelic features.

Carol and Tyreese separated themselves from Judith's form by a good five yards before Carol turned on her heel to face Tyreese. "This is the best way," she spoke softly but, firmly to Tyreese, hoping to ease any guilt that might be lingering. "This is the best way," she said again; more to convince herself than him.

Tyreese nodded. The naked anguish in his features betrayed the battle the moment had started in his own soul.

"This doesn't make you Ed."

Tyreese nodded again. He clenched and unclenched his fist at the mention of the name. It had been Daryl who explained it. Daryl who had told him about the name she screamed herself awake with in the night.

"This isn't about Karen."

It was Carol's turn to nod. "I don't believe you," she whispered. The saddest of smiles graced her lips.

"It's okay," Tyreese replied. "I don't believe you either."

"It doesn't matter what we believe." Carol steeled her resolve, "We both know this is the only way they will believe it," Carol's voice was thin and laced with a nervous chuckle. She over enunciated the word 'they'. "It's the only way they will trust me."

The right hook knocked her to the ground. Carol never saw it coming. She was thankful for that much.


End file.
